Silo

by Jay J Falconer

  “Yes. Do they have clothes?”

  “Negative, doc. We burned them after we hosed them off, too.”

  “So they’re in the brig. Naked?”

  “I really don’t think they understand whether they have clothes on or not, Doc. Or care,” Wicks said, shrugging. “I know Horton and Lipton don’t, as long as those things are in a different cell, which they are. So what’s the big fucking deal?”

  Liz snatched Krista’s arm and dragged her to the wall opposite from Wicks, turning her back to the man. Summer joined them in a huddle.

  Liz whispered to Krista. “I know Wicks is a friend of yours, but you really need to assign someone else to handle this stuff. He’s totally out of control.”

  “He’s just doing his job.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s overstepping and I want it stopped. And I mean now. We need to treat these people with respect.”

  “They’re not exactly people anymore,” Krista said.

  “Yes. They are. And that includes Nomad,” Liz answered, looking at Summer.

  Summer nodded. “She’s right. We have to rise above our suspicious tendencies and set the bar high. It’s what Edison would have wanted.”

  “And done, by the way,” Liz said, wondering where Summer found the sudden vocabulary. Perhaps the girl was growing up a bit.

  “I get that and I respect both of you,” Krista said, turning her focus to Summer. “But remember when you said that you never should’ve brought Horton and Lipton here with that Scab girl? That you should have listened to me out on that road, when we first ran into them?”

  “Yeah, how could I forget? You bring it up every chance you get.”

  “Well, this is just like that time.”

  Summer shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s different.”

  “It’s still about security and the safety of all of us. You need to let me handle this, Summer, as I see fit. It’s my job, just like yours is to make the ultimate decision and lead us, as Edison would have wanted.”

  “Well, technically, all three of us are supposed to do that,” Liz said. “We have the new leadership dynamic, or did you forget that?”

  Krista’s eyes tightened. “No, I haven’t forgotten anything. But someone still has to make the final decision, when we have a deadlock.”

  “There’s no deadlock here. Summer and I both agree. We treat our prisoners with respect.”

  “And dignity,” Summer added.

  Liz continued, “No more rough stuff, Krista. Understood? And they all get clothes, food, and whatever else they need.”

  Krista held for a beat. “Look, I get that you two don’t have the experience I do, but most of the time, it is necessary to send a message. Sometimes that’s the only way a prisoner understands. It’s how we establish discipline and maintain order.”

  Liz shook her head and pointed at Nomad. “That may be true outside these walls, especially back in the day, but that’s not how we’re going to do this. He’s not resisting. Not in the least.”

  “Speaking of which, don’t you find that the least bit odd?” Krista asked. “Given who and what he is?”

  Liz couldn’t deny the answer, knowing that the man could spring into action and cause havoc at any moment. “It did cross my mind.”

  “Mine, too,” Summer said.

  “And yet you still want us to wrap him in a great big hug and welcome him into our community?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “That’s what it means, if we don’t establish our command position with him and his harem. It’s about respect for the situation.”

  “But they’ve haven’t given us any indication they are a threat. So why treat them like this?”

  Krista dropped her head and stared at the floor for a bit, then brought her eyes up and peered at Summer. “Do you agree with Liz?”

  “Mostly.”

  “So there is some doubt?”

  “A little. On one hand, I respect you and your skills, but on the other, I want us to act like civil human beings. It’s how Edison and June would have wanted us to act. Not like Frost and his men, or anyone else out there.”

  “I hope you know this will come back to bite you in the ass, Summer.”

  “Maybe, but let’s try it Liz’s way and see what happens. If this shit goes haywire, then you have my blessing to step in and take charge. Will that work?”

  Krista turned in Wick’s direction and held for a few moments, then brought her eyes back to Summer. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But the instant something smells off, and I mean even a little, I’m going to lock it all down.”

  “What about clothes?” Summer asked.

  “Yes, clothes and masks and whatever else you want them to have,” Krista said, pointing in the direction of the brig. “But those Scabs, they stay locked up. That’s non-negotiable. Not if you want my help on any of this.”

  Summer looked at Liz. “Do we have a deal?”

  Liz smiled. “Fair enough.”

  Summer put a hand on Krista’s shoulder and did the same with Liz. “All right, ladies. We came together and made a group decision. Exactly how it’s supposed to work.”

  Liz nodded.

  So did Krista, just as Watson broke though the door, carrying the balaclava. He held it up when he arrived.

  Krista took it from him and tossed it at Wicks. She pointed at Nomad. “Clothes, too.”

  “What about restraints?” Wicks asked.

  Krista glanced at Summer, then at Liz. Both of them had their arms folded over their chests, looking stout and determined. “That’s a negative for now, Wicks. But stay frosty. I want a security team covering him at all times.”

  “You got it, chief.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Horton watched Helena take a seat on the only cot in the cell adjacent from him in the brig.

  She brought her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, then tucked her head into her forearms and started rocking back and forth.

  It was the first time he’d seen her act that way. Almost human. As in little girl human, showing a side of her that he hadn’t seen before.

  A new word flashed in his mind—one he never thought would apply to Helena—vulnerable.

  The other Scabs in the cell came to Helena’s side and huddled around her. Some of the females stood, while others sat, forming a half-circle of what he could only describe as a support group, if that was even a term they’d understand.

  It seemed clear they all knew each other and had a connection. Or perhaps, they were drawn to each other, as in a misery loves company type thing.

  “Well, would you look at that,” Lipton said, pointing at the spectacle in the cell next door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were all in mother hen mode, protecting their child.”

  “I think that’s exactly what they’re doing.”

  “Of course, you would,” Lipton answered, turning away from the cell door and a moving a few steps closer to Horton. “However, I caution you, never confuse instinct with intent.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, don’t confuse simple, natural instinct with conscious intent. And by that, I mean the type of intent that’s driven by complex emotions within established rules and protocols of societal norms.”

  “That’s not how it looks to me, Doc.”

  “Remember, most of our behavior is learned, which requires a social component and a specific desire to fit in and be accepted. It’s a dynamic that can only happen in a community setting.”

  “Okay, I get that.”

  “Now, aim that basis at what we’re witnessing and tell me, honestly, is there a specific desire of those Scabs to be accepted within their own social group, or is it purely instinctual? As in protecting one of their own?”

  “Okay, I see your point.”

  “It’s the same thing with a parrot, sitting on a perch in cage. Sure, some of them can mimic human speech, but it does not mean they are human. Far from it. It’s si
mply natural instinct, repeating the sounds they have heard over and over.”

  “True,” Horton replied, keeping his eyes aimed at Helena and her kind. “But I still think emotions are involved, even it’s simply a primal thing.”

  “Think what you want, but the data suggests otherwise.”

  “Well, your data maybe.”

  “Yes, my data. Taken from years of advanced learning and endless hours of empirical study.”

  “Of Scab interactions?” Horton quipped.

  “Mock me if you will, but a trained mind studies all the data points with a skeptical eye before germinating any theory. Without a proper foundation and a sufficiently large sample set, you cannot reach a conclusion. Not a reliable one, if that’s your goal.”

  “Sure, if you say so, Doc. That’s for others to decide, not me.”

  Lipton raised an eyebrow and firmed his voice. “Anytime a scientist narrows his focus and only studies a small portion of the available data, incorrect conclusions result. Usually widely inaccurate ones at that.”

  “Okay, I get what you’re saying. It’s like flipping a coin five times and always getting heads.”

  “Exactly. Those few coin flips are too small a sample set to then go on to assume that every time you flip a coin, it will result in heads.”

  “Yes, faulty data.”

  “It’s how conspiracies are born, even in the annals of science. More so when political bias and socio-economic factors play into some collective policy that results from the study, or lack thereof. We can learn from those mistakes. They’ve happened throughout history. Some of them just before The Event, and you know how that turned out.”

  “Sure, that makes sense. You can’t fix stupid.”

  “More so when there is an agenda behind it. Usually based on profit or control. Sometimes both.”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. That used to drive me nuts on the news back in the day.”

  “Fake news.”

  “That, too.”

  “Bottom line, Horton, if your goal is to reach a predetermined conclusion, long before you have enough reliable data, then your eyes will focus on the facts, and I use that term loosely, that will help support and achieve that predetermined goal.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  “I’ve seen it happen many times in my career. More so before The Event than now, but the observation still holds, regardless.”

  “So what you’re saying is that if I want to believe Helena is more human than animal, then I will subconsciously focus on the aspects of her behavior that support that theory and ignore the rest.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Okay, I get that.”

  “Good, because it also applies to those who are keeping us locked away, like some kind of murderous criminals.”

  Horton took a second to consider what the Doc just said. “You think I want to believe that they will eventually trust us, so I’ll focus on that goal and ignore the rest.”

  “Yes, even though the data suggests precisely the opposite.”

  “Maybe I’m just a romantic,” Horton said, swinging his arms up in a flash of movement.

  “Or a fool.”

  “Again, your data, not mine, Doc.”

  “Just consider what I’m saying. It might serve you well in the future.”

  Horton laughed. “You know, Doc, some might call what you’re saying nothing more than paranoia. Ever consider that? That you have a predetermined assumption, as in they hate us and always will, so you think they will never trust us or let us out of here, no matter what we do. So you act accordingly, expecting that outcome and using it as justification to be a total dick, every second of every minute.”

  “Sure, that’s always a possibility.”

  “My mom used to say you attract more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  “That’s assuming you want to attract flies in the first place. As in a predetermined goal.”

  Horton didn’t respond. Lipton was never going to agree with him, no matter what he said.

  Lipton continued, “Regardless, it still does not mean that Helena is human. Or her friends. Not unless you take into account all of the available data with an open mind and a firm desire to discover the truth.”

  “Man, do you ever stop spinning, even when you might be wrong for a change?”

  “Call it what you will, but you know I’m right. Those things over there are not human. Not in the traditional sense. And that means they are dangerous and can never be trusted.”

  Horton waved a hand at Lipton. “I’m tired. Leave me alone. You give me a headache with all this crap.”

  “Sure, just ignore the obvious, if it makes you feel better. But trust me, things are never what they appear to be. Eventually, you’ll come to learn that I’m right and you should have listened.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Nick Simms pulled the leash to the side, directing Sergeant Barkley to make a sharp corner as they continued their trek to Rod Zimmer’s office. This corridor marked the last hallway of their journey, with the destination just beyond the door at the far end.

  “I guess we’ll never sneak up on anybody,” Simms said to the mutt, hearing the patter of its unkempt nails clicking across the cement floor.

  Of course, his boots weren’t any better, the heavy rubber soles making a hollow thud, all of it amplified by the sheer walls of the cement tomb they called Nirvana.

  Simms stopped walking and pulled back on the dog’s restraint after realizing that Barkley’s breathing had gotten more pronounced. The canine’s tongue hung out several inches, like a blanket. A dripping, wet blanket, flopping loose as if it were dead tissue connected somewhere inside his mouth.

  He rubbed the dog’s fur along the side of his neck. “You okay, boy?”

  Barkley brought his lips together and sucked in his tongue, making a smacking sound. He swung his head around and looked at Simms for a moment before returning his gaze to the path ahead. The instant his eyes were forward, his mouth opened and out came the tongue again, hanging low as the freight-train puffing resumed.

  “We need to get you some water,” Simms said, seeing the drool leak from the dog’s mouth. “I’m sure Rod has some for you. Just hang in there. You’re doing well, all things considered. I know I wouldn’t be up and around so quickly. You must be one tough puppy.”

  Barkley resumed his march ahead, tugging on the leash in random jerks.

  Simms followed, realizing the dog knew they had somewhere to be. Somewhere important, even though neither of them knew why.

  When Simms reached the door, he used his hand to push on Barkley’s hind end. “Sit, boy.”

  The dog did as he was told, his panting still working at full tilt.

  Simms swallowed hard and took a deep breath before bringing his hand up and making a fist. He knocked three times, waiting for a response.

  Ten seconds ticked by and he heard nothing.

  Simms peered down at Barkley. “What do you think? Nobody home?”

  Barkley raised a paw and scratched at the door.

  “Okay, we’ll go with that,” Simms said, rapping on the door again. This time, he doubled the force.

  “Come in,” a Southern voice said from the other side of the entrance.

  Simms grabbed the handle and turned it, then pushed the door open, wondering what this meeting was all about. This was the first time Zimmer had ever requested a private chat, let alone asked him to his office.

  Barkley cruised in first, with his tail high and wagging, albeit slowly.

  Simms brought his eyes to Zimmer, who was seated behind his desk in a chair with a squeaky seat. His elbows sat perched on his desk, with his fingers on one hand twiddling the strands of his handlebar mustache.

  “You wanted to see me?” Simms asked, directing Barkley past two stacks of cardboard boxes and toward a brown-colored folding chair that had been positioned in front of the desk.

  It had an all-metal seat with white splotches a
cross it. There were some on its legs, too, stretched out in elongated drips.

  Zimmer pointed to the visitor’s chair. “Have a seat. This won’t take but a minute.”

  Simms wasn’t sure if the comment about only taking a minute was a good thing or not. He planted his ass in the chair and brought Barkley in close, pushing at the dog’s butt to sit again. “Is everything okay?”

  Zimmer brought his hand down from his mustache, then got up from his desk and walked to the door in silence.

  Simms followed Zimmer with his eyes, turning in his seat to track the man. When he saw Zimmer grab the handle and close the door, he said, “Sorry, boss. I should have done that.”

  Zimmer didn’t respond, only turning and walking back to his desk. He angled the chair and sat down, scooting it back under him once he was facing forward. “No, everything is not fine.”

  Simms felt his heartrate double, drying his mouth out in an instant. He licked his lips, trying to unstick them from each other.

  He figured he looked like Barkley’s twin at the moment, minus the drooling, of course. “I’m sorry if I screwed up, sir, but if you’ll just tell me what I did wrong, I’m sure I can fix it immediately.”

  “Relax, son. It’s not you,” Zimmer said, pointing at the door behind Simms. “It’s everyone else out there.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “It started with that frickin’ women’s club Triad thing. Then that damn radio call. Now it’s continuing with Nomad and his group.”

  Simms had no clue what Zimmer was talking about, but he wasn’t about to show his confusion. Or his ignorance. Not now that he’d finally been invited into the inner circle of the silo. A circle reserved for only the most senior of the crew. “Yes, it’s gotten strange, that’s for sure.”

  “Not what I meant, Simms.”

  Simms swallowed a bulge of mucus in his throat, but decided not to say a word. This time, he needed to keep his trap shut and wait. Eventually, Zimmer would get around to whatever this meeting was about.

  Zimmer continued, “Do you have any idea why Summer decided to assign you to dog duty?”

  “No, not really, sir. I figured she needed someone she could trust to walk Sergeant Barkley. Someone who wasn’t doing much else.”